


esas sombras que no hizo la luz

by mrsilikemyself



Series: la sombra sin eco [3]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Blood, Critical Role Relationship Week, Gen, Or Is It?, Spaceships, divine intervention, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 03:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14991629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsilikemyself/pseuds/mrsilikemyself
Summary: “Is this how yours speaks to you?” he asks gruffly. “Mine is mostly just nightmares.”





	esas sombras que no hizo la luz

**Author's Note:**

> sup day four was fjord and yasha and i was like i will Not have them talk abt beau and then. beau appeared in the fic All By Herself. so i tried.......
> 
> title is from another rlly beautiful poem by josé luis hidalgo called la sombra de las sombras (trans. the shadow of shadows)
> 
> i love my friends nd all my works r always dedicated to all of them in case yall. forgot. or smth
> 
> non betaed just me and my advanced cambridge english level

Fjord’s not stupid. It just makes sense that he agrees to travel the galaxy as part of Beau’s ring crew after how well everything went in the Victory Pit. Beau loses more fights than she wins because she’s rash and angry, very angry, but Fjord can’t fault her for anything. He still acts as if he does, because at least one of them should take life as a learning opportunity. But while he gets his share at the end of the day why should he care about the guilt of his lies? Under the Empire and with the company he keeps, it’s not as if secrets are uncommon, anyway. So here he is, on guard at the bridge of the starship they surprisingly didn’t steal, involved in their survival as a group. 

He’s kind of dozing when a clank behind him wakes him, his hand shooting to the plasma pistol at his hip.

“It’s me,” says Yasha, though, and he relaxes.

“Hey,” says Fjord. “Is my time up?”

Yasha shooks her head.

“Just couldn’t sleep,” she says sitting down at the copilot seat. 

Fjord hums and looks back out of the front window. At his side, Yasha relaxes in her seat, slowly falling back asleep until, for no apparent reason, she straightens up.

“There’s an electric storm coming,” she says.

Fjord looks at her and frowns. 

“Really?” he says, reaching forward and squinting at the navigation system. “From where?”

Yasha hesitates for a moment.

“From behind us,” she murmurs, sounding vaguely guilty. “It’s very fast.”

Before Fjord can think about that, though, an alarm goes off and a screen yells at him in red, caps-lock letters that an electric storm is indeed stepping up on them. 

“Well, fuck,” he says, looking at the panicked numbers spilling over all the ship's screens. “I don’t know if I can get us out of this one, maybe if we turn and use up our last ion thrusts...”

Yasha’s hand comes down over his as he's about to change their course.

“No,” she says with a grimace. “Stay put and turn off the engines.”

“What?” Fjord gapes.

“Just. Trust me,” Yasha says, letting him go and sitting back again, trying hard to appear relaxed.

She mostly fails. Her shoulders are a straight line by her ears and her leg is marking a stark staccato against the floor. But, really, what are their options? Escaping probably won’t work. At the best of cases, it would leave them stranded in the middle of a secondary route in a mostly vacant quadrant of space while they are low in provisions. In his head, Molly says something mystical yet bitty about trust and death, and Jester giggles in assent. An ancient laugh that isn't his rumbles in his chest. Fjord turns off the engines. The ship goes silent and now they can hear the storm, growing louder and louder every tick. In the dark, with only the emergency lights on, Fjord looks at Yasha and breathes in deeply.

“Is this how yours speaks to you?” he asks gruffly. “Mine is mostly just nightmares.”

Yasha stares straight ahead, still as a statue out of a sudden. She seems to barely be breathing, less of all listening, as the storm creeps in into their front window like frost, making the ship tremble and shake in the stillness of space.

“I guess drowning in my sleep ain’t that bad, compared,” he muses to himself, as he clicks on his seatbelt. After a moment, he reaches over and clicks Yasha’s on too.

“Fjord, the ship is moving strangely and everything is dark,” yells Nott from the intercom. “What is going on? Do we have to kill something? You can reply to this message.”

“Turbulence,” answers Fjord. “Stay put and grab onto something, but there’s nothing to worry about.” 

At least I hope so, he doesn’t say. At his side, Yasha is still silent.

They are in the middle of the storm now (engulfed in swirling colours, the noise just hideous) and the ship is practically convulsing. Fjord, his fingers white from how strongly he’s gripping the arms of his seat, hums loudly in an attempt to distract himself from what he sees out of the window. It’s the worse storm he’s ever seen, and he would rather not think about how the others ended.

Beau comes running in, then, her nose bloody.

“What the fuck, Fjord!” she yells. “I was sleeping.”

“It’s just turbulence,” says Fjord. “Sit down and don’t worry about it.”

She sees Yasha. 

“Is she okay?” She asks, approaching, and nearly falling down on her face when a strong push shakes the whole ship.

“Mighty fine, Beau. Sit down, please,” sighs Fjord

He doesn’t look back but he’s sure Beau rolls her eyes before sitting down at one of the seats hidden around the walls.

“Nice bad trip we are having,” she says, and from the corner of his eye, Fjord can see her motion towards the storm outside with her chin. The shaking seems to be stopping but the technicolour nightmare continues. 

“Do you think this is what Jester’s puke look like?” Beau wonders out loud.

Fjord snorts.

“I know this is what Jester’s puke look like,” he says.

“Let’s not talk about puke,” murmurs Yasha, tensing all over before slumping in her seat.

“Hey,” says Fjord. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just,” Yasha shrugs, meets his eyes “You know?

“Yeah,” says Fjord. He does.

“I don’t,” mutters Beau.

Yasha looks her way and blinks.

“Oh, Beau,” she says. “What happened to your nose?”

Beau puffs up at the attention and tries to act as if she didn’t.

“Nothing, really,” she says.

“She fell off her bed,” smiles Fjord.

Beau glares at him.

“You should get Jester to look at it,” says Yasha with a frown.

“No, it's nothing! But,” Beau hesitates. “If you think I should... Do you want to come with?”

Yasha looks at Fjord.

“The storm is passing,” he says, turning on the ship again and running basic tests. “Everything looks okay, we will be back on soon.”

“Okay,” says Yasha. “Let’s go.”

She doesn’t expect her seatbelt and looks at it in disconcert when she tries to get up and can’t. Fjord can feel her eyes on him as he very pointedly doesn’t look away from where the central computer is spitting data at him way too fucking fast. Before leaving, Yasha claps him in the back softly. Outside the storm fades to nothing and they keep on travelling.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @/gaymersion and on twitter @/mesamargant


End file.
